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by the_ocean_burned



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Introspection, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, i love that that's a tag, it's that fluffy and sweet, mostly fluff tho, slight angst, so much introspection, this will give you cavities, vague pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_burned/pseuds/the_ocean_burned
Summary: Ronan waits impatiently for Adam to come back to the Barns for Christmas break and a whole lot of introspection happens in the process.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote my first pynch fic a year ago today and since then I've only dug myself further into the pit that is this fandom (luckily, I like it here, so I don't plan on leaving any time soon). This one is almost three times as long as that first one, and - I hope - better characterized.

It had been one month, twelve days, and sixteen hours since Ronan had last seen Adam in person.

Yes, he was counting.

He was counting because Ronan could feel his nerves stretch a little tighter with every hellish second that Adam was at college. He was counting because every minute that Adam spent away was a minute that Ronan was not able to spend kissing Adam and making sure he knew _exactly_ how loved he was. He was counting because he _missed_ Adam, so much so that it was almost painful sometimes, even though he’d never admit it out loud. He could barely admit it to himself. Missing someone who wasn’t dead was such a foreign feeling anymore that Ronan didn’t know what to do with it. The year before, Ronan would’ve drunk himself into a stupor and ignored it as best he could, but he refused to let himself do that anymore, so he got stuck trying to deal with his emotions. It was hell.

Of course, every moment that Ronan couldn’t reach out and run his hands through Adam’s hair or wrap his arms around his waist or tangle their fingers together was also a moment that the little voice in Ronan’s head – the one that told him that he was leavable, that he was only tying Adam to a place that he hated, that he was hurting Adam rather than helping him – got louder. Ronan had years of practice ignoring that voice, but that didn’t make it any easier. It had never been easy, and if anything, it had only gotten worse over the years.

Ronan had gotten better at pretending that voice was lying, though. It was a feeble defense at best, Ronan knew, but it was all he had.

In the smallest hours of the night, though, especially immediately after a nightmare, that little voice was all Ronan could hear. Usually, Adam would be up, working or studying or reading or just being up because he wasn’t used to being able to go to sleep at a reasonable time yet. Even so, Ronan could never work up the nerve to call despite the fact that Adam’s voice _always_ drowned out the one screaming in Ronan’s head, because Adam was probably doing something important. Because maybe, for once, Adam was sleeping, and Ronan couldn’t bear to wake him on the _one_ night he managed to get a halfway decent amount of sleep. Because Ronan had called earlier that day and he didn’t want to be clingy. Because Ronan didn’t want to annoy him. Because Ronan didn’t want Adam to start thinking of him as a burden. Because Ronan was afraid that if he let Adam find out about everything that went on in his head, Adam would turn tail and run.

Logically, he knew Adam would never do that. His head knew, but his heart sure as hell didn’t, and neither did the hellion called anxiety. That particular nightmare left gaps in Ronan’s armor that were far too easily taken advantage of, once someone knew where to look and how to dig their fingers in _just so_ to rip Ronan’s already-fragile defenses to shreds.

Kavinsky had figured it out. He’d figured it out seconds after laying eyes on Ronan. He’d torn Ronan apart again and again, until there was so much blood misting in the air between the two of them that Ronan couldn’t tell what parts of his metaphorical shield were scarred to hell and back and which thin, fragile parts managed to remain unscathed.

Adam had learned how to dismantle Ronan’s safeguards, too. It had taken him longer than it had taken Kavinsky, but Kavinsky had had all the pieces of Ronan from the start. Kavinsky, a dreamer, had been able to see right through Ronan, a dreamer. But Adam hadn’t been in on that secret to begin with, so Ronan’s defensiveness had looked less like glass to Adam than it had to Kavinsky, at least in the beginning.

The real difference between Kavinsky and Adam, though, was that Adam wasn’t trying to hurt Ronan. Kavinsky had clawed and torn through Ronan, hacking every last inch of Ronan’s feeble attempts at self-preservation into barely-held-together ribbons. Adam gently pulled Ronan apart, bit by bit, and set each piece of his defense to the side ever so carefully so he could help Ronan put it back together again when he next needed it. Kavinsky had torn Ronan to shreds to hurt him, to make him vulnerable, to coerce him into letting Kavinsky in via some twisted reverse psychology bullshit. Adam asked, and Ronan let the walls come down willingly.

Ronan loved Adam. He had not loved Kavinsky. That was the difference.

But Kavinsky was dead and gone, so he didn’t matter anymore. Ronan didn’t care about what had happened with Kavinsky anymore. White sunglasses and the disturbingly slender limbs of an addict no longer haunted Ronan’s nightmares. Kavinsky did not matter. Kavinsky especially didn’t matter on the eve of Adam’s return to the Barns for Christmas break.

Ronan felt like a bundle of anxious energy, barely contained by his ribcage, had replaced his heart. His thoughts were a constant loop of _Adam, Adam, Adam._ Of Adam’s smile, easy and wide and carefree; of Adam’s small, half-surprised laugh; of Adam’s freckles, all over his body, that Ronan loved to trace when they were half asleep; of Adam’s eyes, bright and happy; of Adam’s shoulders, weightless, after having spent so long carrying the weight of the world; of Adam’s goddamn _hands,_ so beautiful and boyish and _Adam_ that some days, looking at them made Ronan want to burn the world to the ground for no reason he could find within himself. Maybe it was because Adam – all of Adam, not just his hands, no matter how long Ronan could spend tracing his gaze over them and committing every detail to memory – made Ronan _feel._ Maybe it was because every emotion that Adam dragged from the dusty attic of Ronan’s heart seemed larger than life, bigger than Ronan could contain within himself, so grand and chaotic and intense that it pressed down on Ronan’s lungs and heart and made him feel like he was suffocating. Maybe that was why Ronan had felt like punching a wall or drinking himself half to death or burning something to nothing for so long at the mere sight of Adam – because he was _feeling_ so intensely that it was nearly painful and Ronan didn’t know how to deal with that.

And yet, when Adam wasn’t there, Ronan missed how overwhelmed he got every time Adam did essentially anything. Adam was just so gentle and sweet and supportive that it almost hurt _._ He wasn’t perfect, of course – not even close – but he tried so damn hard to be a genuinely _good_ person that it was hard to understand, some days, how Adam was even remotely interested in someone as sharp-edged as Ronan. He had brought it up, once, while Ronan had been very drunk and sitting on the edge of Adam’s mattress in St. Agnes.

“Why do you stay?” Ronan had asked, his broken edges smoothed out and his voice softened by alcohol. “You deserve better than to have to put up with my bullshit.”

For a moment, Adam had seemed surprised, and then his face had softened and his expression had gone almost sad. Ronan hadn’t understood why. He still didn’t. At first, Adam hadn’t responded verbally; instead he had sat down on his small, shitty mattress in his small, shitty apartment and tugged Ronan down so that his head lay in Adam’s lap. Ronan had closed his eyes as Adam had spent the next few moments quietly tracing one finger along the shell of Ronan’s ear, down his jawline to the dip between his collarbones, then back up again.

“You’re right,” Adam had said eventually, making Ronan’s heart plunge into his stomach. “I don’t deserve you.”

Adam’s voice had gone quiet, then, and when Ronan opened his eyes, Adam’s eyebrows were furrowed and he was staring blankly at the opposite wall. It was easy to tell that Adam wasn’t really seeing the wall, though; his mind was blatantly elsewhere and, from the dark, borderline pained look in Adam’s eyes, it hadn’t gone to a pleasant place.

“You’re one of the best things that have ever happened to me, Ronan,” Adam had continued in a smaller, more vulnerable voice than Ronan had ever heard him use. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so much better than what I deserve.”

Then Adam’s expression had cleared and he had smiled down at Ronan, smoothing one palm lovingly over the curve of Ronan’s shaved head. “And yet, here we are. I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”

That had been that. They hadn’t discussed it since, but sometimes, Adam would get this look in his eyes and Ronan could practically see his self-esteem withering away to nothing. In moments like that, Adam’s words echoed in Ronan’s ears – _you’re so much better than what I deserve_ – and Ronan wanted to kiss him until Adam knew exactly how much he deserved; how much Ronan wanted to give him. Which, of course, was the entire world, but Ronan would never be able to bring himself to say that out loud. It was far too cheesy and sappy for Ronan’s taste.

He’d peg it as too emotional for him, too, but most things were too emotional for him anymore because he’d spent so long repressing everything. But Adam had reminded him that emotions were necessary, so Ronan relearned them. First it had been love. That had been easiest, since Matthew and Chainsaw and Aurora had ensured that Ronan never entirely forgot how that felt. Then happiness, which had been a little harder, but it hadn’t hurt to rediscover because it had only become a rarity, not a memory. And then Adam had gone off to college, and Gansey and Henry and Blue had gone on their road trip, and Noah had been dead, and Ronan had relearned loneliness.

 _That_ had hurt. That had hurt a lot.

It had hurt nearly enough to drive Ronan back into his bad habits – namely, drinking and street racing. The drinking dulled everything down, the racing made him feel like he could outrun everything, and it was an intoxicating combination. But Ronan was trying to at least cut those habits down to a minimum, if not thoroughly remove them. He was trying – _God,_ he was _trying,_ he was trying _so damn hard_ ­– to be better about things like that. He realized now that if he fucked up, Adam would pay for his mistakes, too, and Ronan despised the thought of hurting Adam in any way, intentionally or not.

So, instead of turning back to what was easy but also a complete set of incredibly bad ideas, Ronan had learned to briefly suppress his hatred of cell phones and call or text Adam when he was feeling particularly like shit. It was hard as hell, though, and he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it, but he was getting better at it. Slowly but surely, he was getting better.

Talking to Adam over the phone wasn’t even close to talking to him in person, though, and texting was even worse than that. Being able to hear Adam but never see him almost made the distance – and the longing that came with it – harder to endure. On the other hand, it made what time they _did_ have together that much more precious.

As such, Ronan found himself pacing the length of the front porch, staring down the driveway expectantly, even though it would be hours before Adam arrived. He couldn’t sit still. He had barely slept the night before, but he was so awake he felt almost fragile. It was as if every nerve in his body was raw lightning, zipping every which way through him and setting him on fire. Ronan has been up before the sun and hadn’t been able to calm himself down even as his dream buck and the rest of the herd had eaten from his palm. The only thing he had been able to focus on was that Adam would be home by midnight.

Ronan had spent nearly three hours outside when it started snowing. For a moment, he considered going inside and dressing more appropriately – bare feet and a tank top didn’t exactly make a snow-appropriate outfit – but shrugged it off. Adam would be home soon, anyway, and Ronan figured that his pacing would keep him warm enough that it wouldn’t be that big a deal.

Two more hours passed, and then, finally – _finally_ – the headlights of Adam’s shitbox of a car curved up the driveway. _I really need to get him a new car,_ Ronan mused as he unsuccessfully fought a grin. How that piece of crap even made it across four states to Harvard and back, Ronan didn’t know. He was grateful it managed, though.

Adam parked his car and climbed out. He had bundled himself in a sensibly heavy coat and scarf. Ronan nearly tripped going down the stairs, finding with some surprise that his feet were numb already, since he couldn’t feel the cold of the snow. He didn’t particularly care, however. Everything else had gotten eclipsed by the fact that _Adam was home, Adam was home, Adam was home._

Ronan tugged Adam in for a kiss before he could get a word out. God, he had missed this. Adam was solid and warm even through the thickness of the coat, and the tension between Ronan’s lungs that he had learned to ignore eased away. Adam was home, and Ronan was kissing him, and all was right in the world.

Adam pulled away after a few second, his cheeks flushed with cold and surprise. He smiled at Ronan, laughing a little, then glanced down and froze. This confused Ronan.

“Ronan. Ronan, are you _barefoot?”_

“Uh…” Ronan glanced down, just to make sure; it was hard to tell when he couldn’t feel them. “Yes?”

“Then why are you – Jesus Christ, Lynch, get in the house! You’re going to get frostbite.”

Ronan laughed as Adam pushed at his shoulder, trying to turn him around. “I’ll be _fine,_ Parrish.”

Even so, he let Adam push him back into the house and sat on the couch, vaguely annoyed that Adam could be flustered and concerned at the same time and still look good in the meantime. It was rather unfair.

“Let me get my bags from the car, and then I’ll make sure you don’t catch frostbite.” When Ronan moved to stand, Adam had to catch him before he fell. Standing up with numb feet was more difficult than Ronan would have thought.

Ronan lay back on the couch, sighing contentedly. Adam was back, probably stressed out as usual, and _definitely_ more of a mother hen than he had been when he had left, but it was cute. Now that he knew that _yes,_ Adam would come back and his fears that he was going to come back just to say that he’d found someone less mentally fucked and more deserving of him had quieted, the previous night of sleeplessness was hitting Ronan hard. The downside of a regular sleep schedule was that missing a night of sleep had an actual impact on Ronan’s ability to function the next day. It was kind of a pain in the ass.

He must’ve drifted off, because the next thing Ronan knew, he was very warm and he could feel his feet again. Cracking his eyes open, Ronan realized that he was cocooned in blankets and Adam was trying to worm his way beneath them as well.

Adam seemed to realize that he had woken Ronan, because he glanced up and smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m pretty sure this would be easier and probably more comfortable in, you know, a bed,” Ronan said dryly, though the effect was somewhat ruined because his voice was still thick was sleep.

“Probably. But I didn’t want to wake you up. You look like you need the sleep more than I do.”

Ronan hummed in easy agreement, not really believing Adam was wrong – the circles beneath Adam’s eyes weren’t nearly as prominent as he remembered. With a little shifting and a few mumbled swear words, they eventually managed to situate themselves somewhat comfortably on the couch. They ended up with Adam lying on his back, Ronan stretched across him and his head pillowed on Adam’s chest.

Allowing his eyes to slip closed again, Ronan rested his head against Adam’s chest, content to listen to the soft, steady thumping of Adam’s heart. Adam’s fingers stroked over the curl of Ronan’s neck and traced the top few inches of his tattoo where it peered out from beneath the neckline of his shirt.

Ronan had no idea how long they spent basking in the drowsy comfort of the silence. Words could come later, when they were both awake and the last of the lingering school-related stress had fallen away from the line of Adam’s shoulders and Ronan felt a little more comfortable in his skin again. For now, all they needed was the feeling of Adam’s fingertips on Ronan’s skin and Ronan’s breath slowing down and evening out as he fell asleep and Chainsaw settling herself into the space between the back of the couch and the crook of Adam’s neck and falling asleep, too, as the snow fell outside and a fire crackled quietly in the fireplace. Adam was asleep, and Ronan was dreaming, and Henrietta was as quiet as Gansey said it made him, and everything was right in the world again.


End file.
